Page 21 of The Cowboy's Christmas Baby
Even though she made sense, since the taproom was only a few minutes away, it didn’t sit right to send her home with her brother after he’d asked her out. But this wasn’t a date, and he really did have Iris to think of, and it really would be more convenient if Ford came by to pick her up, so he filled a glass for himself, then set to work on putting a salad together. He wasn’t much into sugar, so he had no dessert in the house, but he did have fresh rolls from the local bakery.
Tate finished feeding Iris before the lasagna was ready.
“We need to work on your table manners,” Miles said to his daughter. She had mashed peas in her hair and a sleepy smile on her custard-smeared face. He got out the plates, napkins, and flatware and left Tate to set the table while he cleaned Iris up and zipped her into pajamas.
Once Iris was dolled up and pretty in pink, the lasagna was out of the oven, and they’d taken their loaded plates to the table, a little Christmas music seemed in order to set the right tone for a tree-trimming party. He could see Tate’s heart still wasn’t in it and he couldn’t have that. He pegged her as someone who’d prefer the classics to pop versions, if her reaction to Gwen was a sign. He’d mounted a flat-screen TV on one kitchen wall and within seconds, Nat King Cole softly sang “Chestnuts roasting by an open fire…” into the room while they ate.
Tate had a good appetite. No girlish,oh, I couldn’t possibly eat all of that, pretense from her and he enjoyed watching her show of appreciation for his cooking.
Iris played on the floor with the new toys he’d bought her—just a few little things to tide her over until Christmas because she neededsomething—but he still didn’t have gifts for Sydney and Pax, which made him feel guilty. He didn’t want them to think he’d forgotten about them, especially now that he had a child of his own to fuss over. He had two weeks left to get them each something special.
“I take it from the tree and the music that Christmas was a big deal in the Decker family household when you were growing up,” Tate said, setting her fork on the edge of her plate.
“And continues to be. Decorating the tree is a huge production.”
The tree normally went up the day he arrived home for the holidays. He would have missed the family party by now, which was fine. Let the traditions become about Sydney, Pax, and Iris, not the thirty-four-year-old retired bull-riding baby of the family.
“What was your favorite family Christmas tradition?” he asked Tate.
She hooked a strand of blond hair behind her ear and took a thoughtful sip of her wine. “The Christmas Eve party at the Methodist church.”
Interesting.The church she referred to was the First Methodist Memorial, a pretty little building on the outskirts of Grand with lots of stained-glass and rustic white clapboard and mature trees bordering its grounds. It overlooked the Tongue River, not the Yellowstone, which would have been the main thoroughfare in the late 1800s. The banks of the Yellowstone were where St. Joseph’s Mission, Grand’s older, statelier, founding Catholic church, would already have been well-established by the Irish community.
The woman who’d jingled Santa’s bells was a church-goer… at least once a year. Now he was even more curious about her. “What was so special?”
“Everything.” Wistfulness tainted her tone. “Tanner and I loved buying little gifts for the children’s party held in the afternoon. Mom baked cookies for it, then fancier treats for the adult party following the midnight service. The pastor’s wife, Enid, makes sure the church is decorated from top to bottom, and it’s always a candlelit service. Mom used to say it gave her a chance to decompress from the holiday rush and remember what the season is really about.”
“My mom says the same thing.”
“Yes, well.” Tate rose and began clearing the table. “Things change. Mine took up golf so that’s what she’ll be doing Christmas Eve. And Christmas Day.”
Miles had no words for what he thought of her parents. Yes, Tate and Ford were adults, but somehow, he doubted if they were much support for each other. There wasn’t a whole lot he could do about Ford. Tate was a different story entirely. Prickly or not, she was going to enjoy Christmas.
He took her plate from her and plunked it on the table, next to his own. “The dishes can wait. That’s what a dishwasher’s for.” He swept Iris off the floor and swung her high. Her chubby legs churned, spinning the pedals on an invisible bicycle. “Let’s crank up that music and get down to business. I’ve got eggnog and a little rum to go with it. It’s tree-trimming time.”
*
Tate
“You’re new atthis, aren’t you? The star goes on last,” Tate said to Miles.
He had to be new at it, because getting the star into place was the least of his problems. He held the crowning crystal of glory in his work-roughened hands. It was delicate and shiny and bright—and would add another six inches to a tree that already terrorized the paint on the living room ceiling.
“You think so? And how do you propose we do that?” he asked. “Picture it loaded with ornaments and lights.”
They both studied the tree. It took up nearly half the room, and the room wasn’t small.
“You’re right,” Tate said. It killed her to admit it. “In fact, you’re never going to get that star mounted. Your tree is obese.”
The scar on Miles’s cheek crinkled. Humor trickled from his eyes. “Are you body-shaming my tree?”
“I’m questioning your judgment. It looks like Audrey II.”
Miles raised his eyebrows. “Audrey had better be a supermodel.”
“Seriously?” Tate couldn’t believe it. “It’s the carnivorous plant inLittle Shop of Horrors. Movie? Musical? Performed by just about every drama department in high schools across North America?” She dropped her voice to the lowest pitch she could reach and belted out, “Feed me, Seymour. Feed me all night long…Don’t leave Iris alone with it,” she finished darkly.
He cracked up, his shoulders quaking with laughter. Iris, who’d fallen asleep on the floor on a blanket, stirred without opening her eyes. Her tiny lips curled into a reflexive smile before relaxing again. The sound of his laughter had Tate smiling, too. The way he energized a room just by being himself was truly astounding. Not much wonder he’d been such a crowd favorite.
